


Into the Violet Light

by Do_not_careissa



Series: Star Sapphire Jason [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Family Issues, Gen, Good Bro Dick Grayson, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Gotham City is Terrible, Jason Becomes a Star Sapphire, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason-centric, Protective Jason, Star Sapphire Corps - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22482130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Do_not_careissa/pseuds/Do_not_careissa
Summary: Things with the family were looking...not so good for Jason. Not where it counted anyway. After years of struggling with himself and the lasting effects of the Lazarus Pits he’d hoped they’d be past the looks of disappointment and the lack of trust. He couldn’t really complain though, his own thoughts weren’t much better.Now with a breakout at Arkham, a hostage situation, a bank robbery, and a weird violet light following him, Jason has to finally acknowledge the real reason he can’t leave the family behind.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Star Sapphire Jason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632121
Comments: 66
Kudos: 818





	Into the Violet Light

It was turning out to be a pretty standard week for Gotham. Pollution clouded any and all views of the night sky, muggings and assaults were a nightly occurrence, the police continued to be incompetent if not outright corrupt, and oh yeah, there was an ongoing outbreak at Arkham. Again.

All that to say, while it was your standard Gotham week, it was a shit week as far as any semi-sane individual was concerned.

Sirens blaring around him, lights bouncing off the horrid sewer water that rose above his ankles, Jason had to wonder if he could really be counted in that part of the population anymore. Hell, he wondered if he’d ever been counted in that small group of Gothamites.

“Nice seein’ you too Waylon,” he grumbled as he dropped Killer Croc’s dead weight. “I’ll be sure to tell Roy you said hi.”

Waylon’s tail flopped a few times beside him, the meta unconscious in the water after their brief struggle. Croc hadn’t gotten too far from his cell, thankfully, but realistically Jason always hated fighting the guy. With sharp claws, big teeth, and a tail that liked to come out of nowhere and whack you upside the head, the guy could be handful. Take into account the guy’s massive size and it was a no brainer on why rules had been set in regards to engaging with the criminal. 

Securing him wasn’t much of a hassle since Waylon was already unconscious, repeated hits against a wall will do that to a guy, so Jason only needed to return him to his cell and lock it down. Throwing a massive scaled arm over his shoulders and hauling the dead weight was more exercise than anything. That and a reminder of how much he could lift at that point. 

It also, of course, told him how little the other bats could.

Croc was easily over eight hundred pounds even when the fuckers at Arkham tried to starve him. Add in his height and Waylon Jones was the textbook example of a big boy. Jason managed to drag, if not carry, the man back to his cell. As much as the vigilante hated being labeled the bruiser or tank of the bats, Jason could see where the label originated from. No doubt anyone else aside from maybe Bruce would have struggled if not been outright defeated by Croc’s mass.

The continued similarities to his former mentor always left a sour taste in his mouth and an ever growing tightness in his chest.

Dumping Waylon in his cell was the easiest part of the night so far, even with the ear piercing sirens still screaming around him. Even with his helmet tuned to cancel out the shrill sound it still got through. He and Roy would need to work on that again.

Resetting the cell was as easy as a few button presses once the door was shut. Once done, he reached up to his helmet, opening the comm line directly to the batcave and choosing to pass over the open line everyone was using.

“Croc is taken care of. Just dumped him in his cell,” he reported once he heard the other end click open.

“Splendid,” Alfred’s voice filled the air. “All security measures in his cell have been reactivated?”

“Everything that I can get access to, yeah. Looks like at least one of the water pipes in there is busted or blocked though.”

“Understood,” there were a few clicks from the other side, Alfred likely taking notes for later. “Good job Master Jason. Any injuries?”

Warmth spread through his figure at the praise. Alfred’s words always had a tendency to leave him giddy. The man just seemed to know what to say to ease his tension. “Few scratches, might’ve twisted an ankle on a bad landing. Croc got a lucky short at my arm, got a few gashes there. Probably need stitches but nothing too major.”

“Perfect.” Alfred hummed on the other end. He said something, voice quiet and muffled as he talked to the others on the other line. “Master Jason, Robin is in need of assistance. Cell block E if you could be so kind. It shouldn’t be too far from you.”

“On it,” he responded, feet already moving in that direction. “What am I walking into A?”

“Robin separated from Batman in his pursuit of Harvey Dent. The lad has been slowing down.”

Jason’s legs moved quicker, his walk turning into a jog as he evaded the patrolling gang bangers along his way. That couldn’t be good. Alfred saying someone was slowing down was never good. Scenarios swam through his head as he ran, each more grizzly than the last. Definitely not good.

“Copy A.”

Arkham was a mess of hallways, only broken up by random common areas, infirmaries, and the oddly shaped cell block. Rare was the straight path when one traveled through the asylum. If it weren’t for the map in his HUD Jason was sure he’d be beyond lost.

Wandering his way through the thugs and goons was always the most time consuming part of an Arkham breakout. For how stupid some of the Gotham villains could be, they sure as hell knew how to people manage. They didn’t all have PhDs but it sure as shit seemed like they all took a few classes in business management or something. Great for them, not so much for the bats.

Really not good for the bats if what Jason was seeing of Robin was anything to go by. They were separated by the length of the block as well as by a whole floor, with Jason on the upper level. Even with all that distance Robin’s struggles were still clear as day. The kid was taking hits he’d normally evade, missed his own punches and kicks, hell the demon brat somehow managed to trip over his own foot at one point from what Jason could tell. It wasn’t looking good for the kid, and it sure as shit wasn’t looking good for the teen’s massive ego.

Robin’s saving grace at that point seemed to be his opponents strangely enough. He’d wound up with a group that was more interested in pushing the boy around, in bullying and jeering the twerp rather than actually killing him. That’s what Jason hoped for anyway. 

The kid was exhausted, his limbs were slow and clearly heavy as he tried to block hits. One lucky shot and Damian would be laid out flat. When was the last time the kid had gotten any sleep? Good well-rested sleep? Considering the events of the week and his work with Superkid or whatever Kent’s kid called himself, Damian clearly wasn’t giving himself a break. 

Like father like son, Jason thought bitterly. Speaking of, what the fuck was the bat doing letting his son run off on his own like this? Was he trying to lose another Robin?

As Jason got closer he finally saw Two-Face, good ole Harvey Dent and his weird ass two-toned suit. The acoustics in the block were horrendous, Dent’s voice bouncing off the walls, reverberating over itself and all the other noises. Jason could hardly hear the man.

By the time he was over the group he knew what was happening, he knew what was coming as Dent flicked his coin. Up and around it turned, the light glinting off the mismatched sides. Guns were being pulled all around the floor, barrels raised and safeties clicked off as everyone aimed at the brightly colored teen before them. 

Damian’s hands shot out, disarming a thug as he spun in his desperation to get out of the circle of criminals. His moves were jerky, sharp, uncoordinated. Fear screamed in his movement. It seemed all for nothing as every downed gun was replaced with another.

Harvey laughed, the deep ugly sound echoing around them. “Tails little bird. Light him up boys!”

Gunshots rang out, not from below but from above as Jason jumped from his position. Bodies dropped, bullets ripped through heads and chests as he mowed down the would be execution squad. Robin slid through the crowd towards Dent as Jason thinned their numbers.

It was over in twenty second.

The next five felt longer as Jason struggled to pull himself back together, to make the haze of green recede back to the edges of his vision, for him to regain control of the emotions running rampant in his chest. There was a spike of fear as his head shot up in search of the familiar red, yellow, and green suit, Damian’s safety his number one priority.

He found him quickly, the teen sneering down at the dead man below him. He was shaking, his fist clenched tight as he snarled.

“You okay kid?” The words were out before Jason could realize what he was saying, but by then it was too late.

He could hear the kid’s teeth grind, could see how he was trying to mask the exhaustion and the misplaced shame in the only way this emotionally repressed thirteen year old could. “I am perfectly fine, Hood,” he snarled the lie. “I didn’t need your help. I didn’t need you here.”

“You’re really gonna try-“

“Two-Face has escaped because you had to step in and be the hero, and as usual bodies litter the floor,” he kicked a nearby arm as he lifted his chin. “Father will not be pleased. Why he allows you to run free instead of putting you here himself is beyond me.”

Damian was swaying on his feet, was blinking much more than usual. As much as he felt the urge to fight the hot head, Damian’s exhaustion was catching up with him fast. Even more damning, Jason understood what was beneath the kid’s outburst. The kid had the guilt of a damn Catholic, had the shame radiating off of him for what he saw as a failure, for not being able to protect himself.

Once Jason might have fought with the kid over killing those men. Once he might have argued over how much the blood on his hands weighed on his conscience, how he knew he was damning himself with these decisions. He might have argued how much heavier that weight would be had he done nothing and watched Damian be shot down.

But now, with everything that had happened in the family, with his rocky relations, there was no way he could say such a thing.

The kid was on the comms, no doubt ranting and raving about him causing Two-Face’s escape. Jason keyed into the frequency in time to hear the deep, heaving sigh from the man he’d once called Dad.

“Robin, you and Red Hood need to head to the main entrance. Gordon and his men will begin moving into the asylum in twenty. Try to clear their way.”

The words were said without emotion, no “Are you okay?” or “What happened?” There was no “It’s alright we’ll get him next time.” No, there was just a bone deep exhaustion that radiated through the line right into Jason’s soul, right alongside all the other emotions fighting for dominance within him. Because Jason knew, he knew it wasn’t the breakout that made Bruce sound that tired. It wasn’t the continued fighting and apprehending of these dangerous individuals that was wearing him out. And it clearly wasn’t worry for his children that had the man sounding so dead. No, it was none of that.

Bruce was tired of Jason. Not of his actions, not of his words, no. He was tired of Jason’s existence, of Jason continuing to occupy a space in his orbit.

“Hood get a move on!”

Damian’s yell cut through the air. Jason was once again pulled out of his thoughts, forced to interact with the world around him, and to accept how right his thoughts were.

He turned and walked past the brightly colored teen without a word. Bodies littered the floor, bodies he’d put there. Blood was speckled on his gloves and jacket, put there by his own hands. He stalked through the halls, letting his legs work on auto pilot.

He’d told himself he was wrong, that there was no way Bruce wanted him gone. He’d tried telling himself over and over that no matter their differences Bruce must be as relieved and thankful to have Jason back as Jason is to have his family back. The tension and distance between them was just an obstacle they both knew they needed to work on, to overcome.

He’d tried telling himself that over and over but as he walked beside the kid that looked like a near copy of the man, he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

* * *

Debriefs were, quite frankly, the worst. You know what made them worse? Debriefs with Batman and his hoard of followers. And what could possibly make them even worse than that? Debriefs with Batman and company where seemingly everyone was fighting not to fall sleep where they sat, were all injured in some way, shape, or form, and who all, of course, seemed to have the same distrust towards the same person. Namely, Jason.

He forced himself to breathe, in, hold for five, out, in, hold, out. He couldn’t wear his helmet during these things, something that fucking Dick of all people instituted after accusing Jason of sleeping during a debrief. Never mind that a) others weren’t called on their actual out in the open sleeping and b) no one else had to remove their masks, hoods, or cowls. Realistically he knew it was probably better this way. If he passed out or something no one would be able to get the damn thing off of him without either calling in Roy or blowing his head off. Chances of the bats of all people asking others for help? 

Zero fucking percent. 

So for his own sanity, safety, and that bone deep yearning that he will forever deny feeling, Jason lets them do whatever they want when he’s there. Which also included taking his guns, because why the fuck not.

While the lack of firearms didn’t leave him any less capable, and they normally held very little value to him, having them taken away was yet another strike to the tightness that had been building in him for the past few years. That tightness that said he couldn’t be trusted, that he was uncontrollable, unthinking, unfeeling…

That he was a monster. That they only tolerated him. That he was useful but once he wasn’t they were getting rid of him.

He forced himself to the table, as per usual sitting as far from the head as possible. While that plan almost always left him directly across from Bruce once the Bat arrived, it at least tended to put him next to Cass. She was already there as he flopped into the seat, her dark eyes taking him in and reading him like a book. Her closest hand lifted to land on his.

“Okay?” she asks.

“As okay as I’ll ever be at this point,” he grumbled. He twisted his hand to squeeze her’s before letting it go.

She patted his shoulder and that was the end of the conversation.

There’s a reason Cass is his favorite.

The others finally filled the space, Duke hobbling in to the chair next to him.

“Rough night?” He grinned at the younger man as he eyed the wrapping on his leg.

“Man, you don’t even know,” Duke groaned at him, hand running over his face. “Swear we need to just get some weed killer or something. Getting real tired of Ivy and her thorns.”

Jason chuckled, patting Duck’s good knee. “Nah, you just haven’t figured out how to talk to her yet.”

Duke gave him a long withering stare. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Just sayin’, she ain’t a problem for me. If anything the P. Ives and her kids love me.” 

“At least something loves you,” Damian sneered from his place next to Bruce. “Now quiet your incessant drivel so we can get some actual work done.”

“Damian,” Dick scolded from next to the teen. Damian rolled his eyes as he huffed at the man. Dick turned to Bruce, motioning for them to begin.

“First order of business,” the man grunted as he typed on the table display, bringing up a floating table of Arkham inmates. “We need to determine who escaped and by extension who we returned to lockdown.”

“Riddler’s taken care of,” Stephanie piped in right away. A red X went over Nygma’s portrait.

“Ditto on Deadshot,” Barbara said next to her.

“Zsasz,” Tim muttered into his coffee.

“Ivy,” Duke grumbled.

“Croc.”

“Scarecrow,” Cass added, hand patting his shoulder.

When no more names were said the table separated into two groups, one with Xs, the other without. 

“Okay. So these are our confirmed returns,” Bruce said, gesturing to the half of the display. “Then these are our unconfirmed.”

“Quinn’s for sure out,” Kate said. At the raised brows she explained, “Doctor’s were being held hostage, priorities.”

“Understandable,” Dick answered. “Bane too. Swear I keep forgetting that guy is actually kinda smart.”

Wouldn’t be the first person you thought that of, came the unwanted thought.

A circle appeared on the two portraits, as well as around the Joker’s. Of course the asshole didn’t feel the need to explain himself on that. 

“Dent evaded recapture as well,” Damian muttered, eyes flashing to Jason. “No thanks to Hood.”

“Damian there’s no need for that,” Dick tried scolding him once again, only to be ignored again.

“There’s no need for Todd to be a murdering psychopath, but I don’t see you stopping him,” Damian bit back like the true teenager he was.

Jason’s eyes lifted to the ceiling, hands clutching the seat of his chair as he again fought to control his breathing. The kid is just tired, that’s all, he doesn’t mean any of it, the kid’ll feel bad about it later, but his pride won’t let him say anything and really it’s just his pride saying all this now anyway. That’s what it is, that’s all it is.

“Dami, we’ve dealt with Jason’s...tendencies already. It’s been taken care of.”

“That’s not what I saw Grayson.”

“Seriously Damian, we’ll deal with this later, for now -”

“He didn’t even hesitate in killing Two-Face’s men and you want me to let this go?!” Damian exploded, arms outstretched as he stood up. If he didn’t know better Jason might have thought the kid would flip the table.

Dick looked to Bruce, begging him to control his son. Everyone’s eyes kept flashing between them, Jason, then Bruce, then Damian, and back again.

Jason was practically vibrating with pent up anxiety as Bruce placed a hand on Damian’s small shoulder. The hand forced the teen to sit back down, Damian’s arms crossing as a pout crossed his face. Bruce’s eyes turned back to Jason, eyes cold as steel and just as forgiving. He finally turned back to others, the tension easing only slightly.

“Are there anymore inmates that we know of that escaped?”

“Freeze,” Tim responded. “Though he’s not exactly a ‘need to find immediately’ case like the others.”

“Even so,” Bruce answered, finger tapping the appropriate button.” Anything else of note? Security breaches, broken networks, anything that could compromise Arkham?”

“Are you just going to act like it never happened?” Damian demanded as he forced himself into Bruce’s space. “Father, he’s-”

“Do you have anything more to add concerning Arkham and it’s security Damian?”

“Only that Todd should be-”

“I think it’s time we head upstairs,” Dick interrupted as he grabbed Damian. His eyes briefly flashed to Jason, a panicked looked behind them. “Let’s go Little D, your bed’s missing you.”

“Do you take me for a fool Grayson? A child?!” he screeched as the other carried him past the table.

“Not at all, but I’m also trying to make sure you don’t stunt your growth with your lack of sleep. Unless you want to be fun sized forever, I wouldn’t mind.”

“How dare you!” The bats above them began to flutter and screech at the sheer volume of Damian’s indignation, their wings flapping in a cacophony of sound. 

Once the sounds of Damian’s struggle were gone, Bruce turned back to the table. “Anything else of note?”

An awkward silence fell over the remaining vigilantes as everyone continued to glance between the two largest members.Barbara tapped at the screen in front of her, pulling up stills and video from their mask feeds that Alfred had deemed of note.

Duke’s fingers started ticking on the table beside Jason as everyone avoided eye contact. No one wanted to break the horrible silence. 

Jason heaved a sigh. “It looked like a couple pipes leading to or in Croc’s cell were busted or blocked. He also took out a coupla cameras and busted up a few walls on his way out. Alfred’s got all the shots I took and the locations of everything,” he answered, nodding towards the oldest member of the family.

Stephanie raised an eyebrow before turning to Tim. “That sounds a wee bit tame for Croc, don’t you think?”

Beside her, Tim ran his tired eyes over Jason’s visible form. “And you somehow came out practically unscathed?”

Jason raised his own eyebrow, lifting his arm to display the bloody wrapping he’d applied in the field.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You know what we mean, even B struggles dealing with Croc. But here you are with, what, a scratch? What’d you do?” His eyes were starting to droop, hands shaking as they held his coffee up. The question in Jason’s mind as he watched the kid was if the kid was finally succumbing to his massive sleep debt or if Alfred had finally decided to put sedatives in his coffee again.

Jason shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard. Just check the security feeds or the one from my helmet if you’re so worried about it.”

The coffee mug thunked to the table. Tim’s incredulous stare of betrayal followed it.

“Okay Timber, time to join Dick and the demon spawn upstairs,” Stephanie said, grabbing Time under his arms to pull him up. “No more coffee for you young man.”

“But we aren’t done,” he protested. He reached his arms out for the cup, a feeble and misguided attempt at regaining control of his situation. 

Cass hummed, a small smile still planted on her face. “Tired,” she said in that voice that was all Cass. “All...need sleep.”

Looking around the table it was clear she was right. Everyone had somehow gotten worse in the short ten minutes that they’d been sitting there. Out of everyone remaining Jason, Cass, and Alfred were the only ones not showing clear signs of sleep deprivation. Even Bruce, in his near constant lack of sleep, looked like he was about to meet the table head first if given a few more minutes.

Bruce’s steel eyes roamed over the remaining few before closing. “Is there anything...pressing that has not been mentioned yet? Or that wasn’t sent in to Alfred?”

A chorus of noes sounded from around the table as Bruce and Barbara made quick work of shutting down the displays. “We’ll end this here then. Everyone get some sleep.”

A loud crash came from across the cave close to the elevator. Stephanie’s groan soon followed as she struggled with a now unconscious Tim.

“And that,” Alfred began, “is what will happen if you all do not get upstairs and into bed post haste.” The man’s lip gave a small uptick as he finished the threat.

Jason threw his hand over his mouth to cover the grin growing there. Well, that’s one question answered.

Everyone began to stand up, groans and hisses filling the air as stiff joints were stretched and popped. Just as he was moving to stand Jason heard his name called from across the table. Looking to the source he found those familiar orbs of steel boring into him. 

“Stay back a minute.” The words were clipped as usual, no room for questions or arguing. Just that same apathetic, uncaring tone he’d used earlier in the night, only now with a side of emotionless eyes and an unreadable expression. Well, unreadable to everyone but Cass.

She must have noticed how tense he’d gotten because he found her hand on his shoulder, high enough that her fingers could meet his bare neck. “Will be okay,” she whispered after she leaned down. “He love.” She gave him a quick hug. “And you love.” She ended with a quick kiss to the forehead.

Jason blew air out nervously, unwilling to meet her eyes. “If you say so Cass.”

“Yes,” she patted his head. “I say so.”

Jason watched her go to join the others upstairs. He saw Alfred over in the medical wing, likely tidying up after having put everyone back together earlier. He made quick eye contact, enough to say, “I’m here,” then returned to his work.

Pulling his gaze back to Bruce he couldn’t help but see how truly worn down the man had become. His eyes were rimmed in enough black and purple to make the local goth kid jealous, that crease between his eyebrows was only getting deeper, his frown lines now carved into his face, the gray hairs that were growing at the temples, the ones that only seemed to appear after Jason returned to Gotham…

“Jason,” Bruce cut his examination short, voice carrying across the table. He seemed to slump back in his chair, eyes once again closing. “Is it true?”

Jason paused for a moment, terror coursing through him at the thought that he’d heard Cass talking earlier. “What?”

“What Damian said.”

“Which part?” he croaked out. His hands clutched at the chair again as his heart thudded in his ears. Don’t say Arkham, don’t say Arkham, don’t say Arkham. “The shrimp said quite a bit.”

“About Two-Face’s men.” Bruce heaved a sigh before opening his eyes again. “Did you kill them?”

Jason felt the fire leave him, felt the rest of the world slip away. It was this again, this same old song and dance. It wouldn’t matter why, it wouldn’t matter how it happened, it just mattered that it happened at all. That’s all it ever was wasn’t it? Bruce wouldn’t change that now.

“Yes.”

Bruce’s head dipped, a hand coming to massage his temple. Time ticked by as he sat like that, head in his hand as his second son sat across from him awaiting judgement. Finally he looked back up. “How many?” His voice was still monotone as ever.

Jason’s gaze shifted to the side as he lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know.”

“Jason-”

“I was more worried about getting Damian out alive than head counting okay?”

“Damian can handle himself just fine Jason, do not use him as an excuse.”

“An ex-, are you serious right now?” His hand slammed on the table. “They had their guns trained on your kid and you wanted me to just sit back, twiddle my thumbs, and do nothing?”

“No, I expect you to have some self control. Again, Damian is more than capable of getting out of these situations, he would have been fine.”

Rage flowed through his veins, green fighting to overtake his vision. HIs hands were tight fists now, shaking as he struggled for control. He focused on his breathing, on those “positive” emotions like Kori and Roy had taught him. He distantly heard Bruce’s voice continue to drone on in front of him, the man undoubtedly berating him once again.

Don’t focus on him, he told himself, focus on something else. Cass’s smile when she used a new word correctly, his pride when Duke pulled off the move he’d taught him, Kate’s laughter that one time they went to the gun range, the pride in Alfred’s eyes when he’d shown him his report card all those years ago.

Finally he refocused his sights on Bruce, emotions a little more controlled. He raised his eyebrow in question, leaving Bruce to once again sigh.

“This has to stop Jason.”

“Which part?” he spat. “The one where I kill people who are a danger to innocents and are actively trying to kill your family? Or the part where you act like I’m some kind of mindless killing machine? Personally I’d prefer the later. Or, hell, we could even go with a third option where you make sure your kids aren’t about to get their heads blown off while you’re off chasing your other kid’s murderer.”

He pushed the chair out, rising to his feet. In the distance he saw Alfred approaching, concern in his features. Bruce, likewise, stood from the table.

“There is never a reason for us to take a life,” he growled, voice finally showing some emotion. Of course, it couldn’t be the emotion that was actually warranted. “I thought you were finally starting to understand that.”

Jason shook his head as he turned to leave. “I’m not having this conversation with you again. Not now.”

Bruce stormed around the table, grabbing Jason’s shoulder and forcing him to meet his gaze. “No, we are having this conversation whether you like it or not. I will not have you around my family if you continue to operate in this way.”

Jason stared, dumbfounded. “My family,” Bruce had said, not “our family”, not even “the family”. No, “my family”. It felt like a bullet to the chest, a betrayal worse than the Joker’s continued existence. This man, the man who had taken him off the streets, given him a home, had fucking adopted him, didn’t even see him as part of the family. Not only that, but he thought that Jason would… 

“You seriously think I’d hurt any of them? That I’d kill them? What the fuck Bruce?!” He shoved Bruce back, the man’s hand thrown off his shoulder roughly. “The only reason those fucks are dead is because they were two seconds away from filling Damian with bullets and you’re gonna stand here and say that I’d hurt him or any of the others?”

“Jason-”

“No, no, fuck you Bruce. Take your code, take your bullshit excuses, and go fuck yourself with ‘em.” He stomped from the table, only stopping as he got closer to Alfred. 

The older man’s eyes were pained, mouth pulled in that sad smile he seemed to always have when Jason and Bruce were around each other. He lifted a hand to rest it on Jason’s wrapped arm. They heard Bruce coming closer but neither paid him any mind.

“You are staying, yes Master Jason? At least long enough for me to stitch this up and get some food in you.”

“Sorry Alf.” Jason laid his hand on the other’s arm. “I need to get out of here. It’s pretty obvious I’m not, well…”

“Nonsense, you will always be welcomed in this house. If he has a problem he will take it up with me.”

Jason chuckled, a sad sound carrying from his throat as he shook his head. “Maybe some other time.” He lifted his other hand, gesturing between them. “Can I...before I go-”

Alfred’s thin arms pulled his larger frame close without a moment’s thought, clutching Jasno as he no doubt sent a deadly glare to Bruce.

“My boy, you do not need to ask me for such things, never.” His long thin fingers rubbed into Jason’s back, and even through all the layers of kevlar and leather, it felt steady and reassuring.

“Of course Alfie, sorry.”

They held each other for a few more moments before Jason began to pull away. Alfred dragged a promise of tea out of him before he let the younger man go.

He sat on his motorcycle, helmet on as he started it up. Only once the engine was purring beneath him did he finally look back.

While Alfred looked pained and even upset Bruce just stood there. The man was as cold and uncaring as ever, his eyes drilling into Jason’s even through the opaque red helmet. Only, instead of the expected anger, he only saw exhaustion and disappointment.

As he left, hearing the raised voice of one Alfred Pennyworth behind him, he’s hit with the knowledge that somehow this is worse.

* * *

It continued on like that for the following weeks. Jason would stay in “his” part of Gotham, namely the Narrows, Bowery, Crime Alley, really just the entire section of Gotham overrun with poverty. He’d stay in his lane, only going out to meet with Alfred, Cass, or Roy. Unfortunately, with Kori being off planet doing who knows what the chances Roy traveling to Gotham dropped significantly, leaving his only communication with the red head as phone and video calls.

He continued his work in controlling the drug trade and helping the kids in the area. With how much money he’d been rolling in since he’d reentered Gotham it felt wrong not to do something. Even if that something was as small as setting up houses and shelters for the kids to go to to get away from the dirt and crime and the shitty home lives so many of them had. It was better than nothing. 

He went on patrolling his area, keeping the pimps in line and the working girls and boys happy. Once you got through the systemic problems of the drugs, the disenfranchised youth, and the lack of legal protection afforded to the area’s hookers, most of the problems this side of Gotham dwindled significantly. There were still robberies, still murders and assaults, but even after only a year or so of Jason focusing on this side of Gotham he could see improvement. Give it a few more years, another generation even, and Gotham might be forced to change Crime Alley’s name. 

The thought forced a smirk to his face, the idea so ludicrous it was funny. Soon enough memories resurfaced of a night with a tire iron and what could have been the biggest payout he’d ever seen. It would have been too if he hadn’t gotten greedy and gone back for the last tire.

Something tightened in his chest again. Something else was moving around, fluttering even, before it slammed into another something. On and on it went just as it’d been doing for the previous months.

Whenever Cass was around she’d look at him in that wise way that he’d only really seen once before, in eyes much much older than hers. She’d place her palm to his chest where the waring sensation was strongest, smile, and say “love”.

Jason called it bullshit, but to each their own. 

The feeling was a burden, a complication even. For how much the rage of the Lazarus Pits may have affected him he was ultimately able to control it now. This on the other hand, this ran wild and free like a rowdy puppy who still didn’t understand the concept of “stay or get hit by a car”. It also didn’t escape his attention that the less the Pits affected him the more this sensation occurred. As his rage slipped away, the gripping in his chest got tighter.

Add to it that the only time he really saw “the family” was during major super villain breakouts and attacks and you could see his problem.

Jason honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d killed someone without it having been in a bid to protect someone. Seeing one of the other bats or one of the kids in his territory about to get hurt felt like he was stepping out of his body and watching himself react. Bodies dropped, whether by bullet, knife, or hand, whatever, whoever threatened one of his people did not leave alive.

He’d thought of telling the others, of explaining what was happening, but those cold eyes would always flash across his mind’s eye, the cold “no excuses” reverberating through his skull.

He’d thought of doing it anyway. The next time someone is about to lose a limb or get a bullet through their skull, when Jason would appear like some angel of vengeance he’d tell them of the tightness in his chest, the fear that forces him into a state of “protect at all costs”. But then he remembered Damian’s words, that he belonged in Arkham. And while the kid said it in a fit of misplaced shame brought on by exhaustion and a shitty upbringing, while he clearly regretted it later, it didn’t shake Jason’s actual memories of the asylum. 

It had been what? Two, three, years since then? But the memories still ran through his mind clear as day. Waking up in that cell to the sounds of maniacal laughter, realizing exactly where he was, realizing what they had done.

For the weeks, months, he’d been kept there he had been in a near constant panic. He couldn’t show it, couldn’t take that risk, but by god was it there. Through all the forced medications, through all the attempts on his life, all the reminders that he was locked up with his murderer...There was no way he wasn’t in a state of panic for his entire stay.

But now? It’d be so much worse. They wouldn’t even pretend they were trying to help him, they’d just throw him in and throw away the key. He wouldn’t be leaving that hellscape again, not alive anyway.

He’d thought about that a lot honestly, what he would do if he ever found himself back in that orange jumper in a cold cell. Would he let someone else end his misery? Or would he do it himself? 

He blew out a puff of smoke, cigarette dangling from his lips as the pinball machine in his chest began anew. They wouldn’t care would they? They didn’t care the first time, they’ve never cared to check in on him, make sure he was alright. They’ve never cared to find out what happened to him, way back before...No, they’d rather blame a dead fifteen year old for his own murder, tarnish the teenager’s character, effectively spit on his grave than actually find out what happened.

The comm in his ear beeped briefly, the tone alerting him to a high level alert in the bats’ network. Pressing the receiving button he was greeted with the sound of Alfred’s voice as the man broke down the current situation: the mayor's office was staying late to go over some late budgeting plans and discuss new policies when Harley and Ivy broke in. All Individuals were being held hostage and any cops who got too close were turned on their brothers in arms via Ivy’s pollen.

Jason rolled his eyes as he heard complaining across the line. Really Ivy wasn’t a problem, it was her weird clown girlfriend that was the wild card.

Tossing his cigarette onto the roof, Jason stomped it out as he stood up and put his helmet on, already heading in the right direction. Hopefully he’d at least be able to cool Ivy down faster for the bat brats.

* * *

He was right. Absolutely one hundred percent, Jason Peter Todd had been right. Not that he could or would tell any of the bats that but hey, it’s enough for him to know he was right and they were wrong.

That’s not to say everything went perfectly or that no one was hurt but you know how it goes. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

Then again, Jason had never begged, not even when he’d been on the streets. The closest would have been when he was trying to make Bruce let him stay up late to finish a book but is that really begging? Did Jason really count as a beggar? That was the real question here.

By the time he’d arrived most of the bats were occupied either with Ivy’s plants, Ivy’s mind controlled minions, or Harley and her hyenas. That of course left Ivy open and free to do as she wished. Needless to say once he made his way through her plants the fight didn’t last long.

He wasn’t kidding when he told Duke he knew how to handle her. Then again, he also wasn’t kidding when he said Ivy loved him. Definitely not as much as she loved Harley, but her fondness for him was up there.

Her plants on the other hand? Well, the huge gash across his back and the other across his thigh said otherwise. 

It was quick work getting the two women restrained and heading back to Arkham. If anything some of the others were saying it was too easy. Nightwing raised one of his perfectly sculpted brows at Jason, his suspicions clear. He was met with a shrug as Jason turned to leave. He did what he could to walk normally, ignoring the soaring pain through his leg and back so as to avoid the others’ suspicion in regards to his injuries. The one on his back was particularly difficult. He could feel as the blood oozed out of the wound, drying and sticking his clothing to his torn skin. 

He heard Dick say something to the others as he left, what it was Jason didn’t hear and frankly didn’t care. All he knew was there was about to be a whole lotta Grayson up in his business real soon if he didn’t hurry the fuck up.

Of course, that only really helps if the asshole doesn’t already know where you live. 

The silent alarm went to his phone right as he heard his window being opened. He ignored it as well as the near silent footsteps that approached from down the hall. 

“Jason?” the man called. “Little Wing?”

Exasperation filled him as his eyes lifted. By that point his jacket, shirt, and armor were in a heap in his room. He had the disinfectant out and was ready to fight his lack of flexibility to reach his back. It was too late to throw his shirt back on and chances were he wouldn’t be able to make it out his bedroom window before Dick got to him.

“In here.”

Dick moved into the doorway. HIs mask was already off and he was in the process of removing his gloves. At the sight of Jason’s back he let out a low whistle. “Dang, she got you good, huh?:

“Not really,” he responded as he soaked a rag in alcohol. “One of her random pet vines.” He stopped, mind replaying the night. Stephanie, the vine had been aiming for Stephanie. He shook his head as he set the bottle down. “Not that big a’ deal. ‘ve had worse.”

“Hmm.” Dick watched as he reached for his back, something running through his mind and projecting into his eyes. No wonder the man always used the white out lenses in his mask, without it he’d be screwed. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Dick took the rag from him, carefully wiping down his back to remove the blood and prepare the area for stitches. “Pain killers?” he asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it might’ve been for him.

“Not unless you count the untouched whisky in the kitchen.”

Dick gave him what had to be the most serious look the man had worn in his life. “I’m serious Jay.”

“And I am too,” he countered with a shit eating grin. “Look all you want, you won’t find any pain killers in this apartment. Not like they work on me anyway.”

Dick paused as he put on the sterile rubber gloves. “What do you mean by that?”

Jason lifted his arm. “Normal person’s drug tolerance.” The hand lifted up to his eye line. “My drug tolerance.”

Eyes wide with disbelief Dick could only stare. “Are you serious? How long has this been a thing? Don’t tell me you’ve had this all along and we just never noticed,” he begged.

Jason lowered his hand as he relaxed his expression. Dick seemed actually...worried about him, like he genuinely cared. His chest tightened again, the feeling spreading towards his neck. 

“It’s been a thing since I came back. No idea if it’s from the Lazarus Pit or me, you know,” he said as he gestured towards the ground then up again. “But most all drugs stopped working on me outside of high quantities. On the bright side though I’ve got a wicked high pain tolerance and I seem to heal faster now so I’ve got that going for me.” He shrugged as he met Dick’s stare.

“Jason, that’s horrible. Why wouldn’t you tell us? God we could’ve been hurting you for all we know.”

“And what, give the orderlies at Arkham more to play with when Bruce inevitably throws me back there?”

The air left Dick through his teeth in a rush. If he didn’t know any better he’d think he’d punched the fucker. But no, he’d just told him the truth. And now it looked like Dick was about to have a meltdown in his bathroom.

“Jason, Little Wing, he would never! He-”

“You all have done it once before Dick. He’s threatened to do it again more than enough times for me to know he’s serious.” He gazed into Dick’s eyes hoping the older man would understand. 

Dick twirled his fingers, an ugly expression painted across his face as he watched Jason turn around to straddle the toilet seat. He wasn’t happy, that much was clear, but he at least knew where to hold his tongue.

There was the sensation of the needle through his skin, then the thread following through as Dick began his stitches. While very few of them were great at the skill they at least knew how to do it. Alfred had had the sense to make everyone learn basic first aid under his care, and then more advanced treatments as time went on. For how much Bruce went on about everyone knowing how to fight he would always cave when Alfred would raise his eyebrow and in his very Alfred way would say, “And after the fight?” Rare was the day Bruce Wayne won an argument against Alfred Pennyworth.

Hell, rare was the day anyone won against Alfred.

Dick made quick work of the stitches, tying off the thread and cutting the excess. When Jason turned to him he looked down pointedly at his cut up thigh.

“Really Dick? Least you could do is buy me dinner before you try and get my pants off.”

Dick’s composure broke as he breathed out a laugh. “Seriously? I’m already stitching you up. Now I’ve gotta buy your dinner too?”

“Not all of us have access to daddy’s bank account Dickie,” he joked, swinging his legs as much as their length would allow. “Besides, it’s not like I invited you over.”

“Fine,” he whined. “Chinese good?”

“Chinese is always good.”

“Alright, pants better be off by the time I get back.”

“Ooh, so this is how you get all the ladies is it?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You gonna teach me the ways of the dirty talk big bro?”

Dick left the room, giving Jason ample time to shed his boots, guns, holsters, and pants in the bedroom. Looking down he could see the cuts left by Ivy’s vines. They were worse than he’d thought, not by much but they still sucked.

Didn’t Ivy understand? His thighs were the only thing he really had going for him. He couldn’t have either of them out of commission like this.

Sure Dick had his ass, but he also had a model-like face, a well sculpted body and a charming personality that left anyone swooning. Tim had his long limbs that screamed elegance and those deep blue eyes that the girls a certain Kryptonian usually got lost in. Raised in wealth, Tim also knew how to sweet talk just about anyone. 

If he was being honest with himself and listened to Roy’s comments he knew was closest to Bruce physically but even then...Bruce had that handsome, wealthy, middle aged man look down. The man had the money and the lack of fucks to wear those expensive ass made-just-for-him suits that fit maybe a little too well. Even outside the suits he cut a good figure, more muscle than Dick but it was well defined muscle. And the voice. God for how threatening he made that voice it didn’t change what it did to some people. 

And then there was Jason, who was just thick. Looking in the mirror he saw muscle sure, but it wasn’t defined, wasn’t cut out. He was covered in scars that hadn’t healed right, wide and jagged and there no matter how much he tried to ignore them. While the others had scars they weren’t in overabundance, they were healed to thin white lines. Where they managed to avoid most scars to the face Jason hadn’t been so lucky, the line up his temple and another up his jaw were proof enough of that. He wasn’t elegant like they were, couldn’t be seen as anything other than just...large.

“Hey,” Dick murmured from the doorway, phone in hand and worry across his face. “You okay?”

Jason grabbed some clean clothes from the closet before pushing his way past Dick and heading towards the bathroom. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”

“If you say so.”

* * *

Something was following him.

Whatever it was had been following him for over a week now. He didn’t know who or what it was that had been creeping on him but he was really getting tired of having the hairs on his neck stand up only to turn around and find nothing there.

All he had was a color. That’s it. No shape, no sound, he didn’t even know how big this thing was. No, he had nothing but this weird color that would creep into his vision every so often only to disappear without a trace.

It didn’t take much for him to realize that where the toxic green of the Pits had once clouded his vision, this strange, unnameable color seemed to have taken its place.

Whatever it was it wasn’t pink, no, and it definitely wasn’t that god forsaken horrible pink that he’d seen forced upon baby girls. Thank Christ. And the color was too cold for that anyway. It wasn’t lilac, that was too light. Not indigo, indigo went too cold for this. Mauve was too neutral. Fuschia and magenta too neon. Eggplant maybe?

Fuck it, it’s violet. He’ll just say it’s violet and be done with the damn thing.

If he wanted someone to tell him the actual name he’d go to the family artist. Seeing as he didn’t feel like having a thirteen year old laugh in his face over being stalked by a color, violet would be good enough.

Either way he wasn’t telling the family about it, whatever it was. Just his luck there would be nothing there. Yeah, that’d look real good, Bruce would absolutely believe him, definitely, no questions asked. Hell, he could see himself just waltzing on into the man’s study all, “So Dad, I’ve been seeing this weird glowy thing for over a week now, no idea where it’s from or anything. No no my eyes are fine, Seriously, it’s not me, it’s whatever this thing is. I swear it’s been following me and I don’t know what it is. Any ideas?” Yeah, that’d go over real well.

He was already on thin ice with the man, between what happened during the asylum outbreak, handling super villains in the matter of a few minutes, taking down an arms shipment that the bats had apparently been working on for months, and oh yeah, taking out the odd handful of guys that were about to blow Bruce’s fucking head off, he and the old bastard weren’t exactly doing too well right now.

Not like they ever were anyway.

With everything that had happened within the last few weeks Bruce didn’t even bother to hide his suspicions. It was like the old man thought he was trying to sabotage him or something. Damian, being Mr. Blood Son, had taken it upon himself once again to make those accusations known. 

Once, a few years ago he might have actually been attempting to do that. Way back when he’d first come to Gotham, when he’d been trying to show Bruce that his way was wrong, it would have seemed fitting to sabotage and take credit for the man’s work. But now? It just felt like someone took a knife to his chest, an old rusty knife with pieces broken off that had to be sawed out a few times before it ever got deep enough to stick. It wasn’t that he wanted to sabotage them or take credit for their work or over step them. He just didn’t feel the need to hide anymore. 

He was finally part of the family again, right? He was the black sheep of the family, sure, but he was still acknowledged as being one of them. So why would he hold back and hide what he could do? Why would he hold back when holding back meant a higher chance of someone getting hurt, of someone dying? It was stupid.

And there’s the violet light again. What the fuck is up with this thing?

He turned quickly, gun raised at the thing only to catch sight of a...ring? It sped away before he could get a good look. He holstered the gun as he jumped up, speeding after the violet light.

While his legs and grapple weren’t nearly as fast as the thing, the glow it gave off was bright enough to follow. Over buildings, around city blocks, the thing took him nearly clear across the city in its weird criss crossing route.

The chase finally ended near Gotham City Bank where the glow disappeared. Jason rolled his eyes, his helmet the only thing keeping him from running his hands through his hair in frustration. He’d been so close to getting that thing.

He turned to the bank, figuring there had to be something there. The glow wouldn’t have lead him here for nothing. The bank appeared untouched at first glance, a second cursory inspection with his helmet’s zoom feature however proved his inspection wrong. It looked like Tetch was in need of money for his mind control shit again if the weird headbands the people inside were wearing was anything to go by.

“Typical.”

Opening the comm to the bats was always annoying, especially for stupid shit like this. He could handle it himself, but he was out of “his” territory. That and from the lack of alarms he’d need someone to get the GCPD on the line soon. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it annoyed him, maybe just the idea of having to report in to someone who clearly didn’t trust him. Or maybe it was just that usual sense of guilt again, like he was taking up someone else’s valuable time for this. 

“Hood? What’s wrong?” Barbara’s voice filled his ears. Must be one of her nights to stay in. Those were always nice. It gave Alfred a break while also letting Barbara flex her expertise in hacking and tech.

“Break in at the City Bank. Hatter. Looks like he’s got about half a dozen with him.”

“Half a dozen?”

“People, followers, mind controlled minions, whatever you feel like callin’ ‘em. Might be more inside that I can’t see.”

He heard her keys clacking, likely working herself into the bank’s security system. “I count thirteen, plus Tetch. Need me to call one of the others?”

“No, I should be good without them.” He jumped to the roof of the bank looking for a way in. “Any openings?”

“Rooftop door is unlocked from my end. Alarms disabled.”

“Copy.” He slid through the door silently. The stairwell was shrouded in darkness, only the weak emergency lights illuminating the doors. From what he could tell both the second floor and the first were without light as well. “What do we got?”

“Half are trying for the vault in the back, two more working through desks and cabinets on the first floor. Two are on the second floor, looks like they’re doing the same. Last three are patrolling downstairs or watching the exits.”

“And Tetch?” 

“From what I can tell he’s bouncing from group to group. The usual gloating to his victims. Might be an issue if he notices anyone is missing.”

“So take out the master control first is what I’m hearing.”

“Yeah. Fair warning, Tetch seems to have armed some of these guys. Shotguns and pistols from the looks of it.”

“Perfect,” he murmured as he entered the second floor. Finding the two wasn’t that hard, follow the path of destruction and you’d get there. Desks were ransacked, papers thrown everywhere, and the cabinets were thrown over and dumped out. Coming up behind the two, Jason felt his usual irritation with Tetch rising. These were just random people, they had nothing to do with him. At least most of the other villains in Gotham got their followers willingly, this guy? Real piece of work that there Jervis Tetch.

Were people letting this loon perform at parties again? Is that how he’s getting people? What the fuck Gotham?

Darts quickly found themselves in the duo’s necks, the effects fast acting as the two soon fell unconscious.

“Two down. Safe to remove the headband?” He asked.

A few moments later Barbara’s voice came through. “Based on the most recent specs we’ve got it should be fine.”

The headbands came off, soon finding themselves in the lining of Jason’s jacket alongside the used darts. Say what you will about his clothing choice, you don’t see Nightwing with usable pockets do you?

He moved the two into a side office. Hopefully if Tetch came up he wouldn’t find them right away.

“Location on Tetch?”

“Vault. You should have about two minutes before he moves for the next group.”

Getting to the first floor was easy, not being spotted as he made his way through was much harder. Normally he could predict a patrol’s route, could see where someone was going based on how they moved and where they looked. Jason couldn’t do that here. Mind control always seemed to eliminate all tells in a person, instead turning them into brainless husks. It made sense in a seriously fucked up kind of way.

He managed to squeeze under a teller’s desk before one of the patrols came through. “Any idea why your dad isn’t here with his work buddies yet?”

“No. Seems like the alarm was never set off.” 

A dart made its way into a woman’s bare ankle. Jason moved to catch her, pulling her back under the desk with him. 

Barbara continued, “They might’ve cut the wires before they got in.”

Jason nearly groaned as he looked down at the woman. Right there, fixed to the lapel of her blazer, a name tag with the bank’s logo on it. “Or Tetch got some of the bank employees.”

“That too.”

Jason worked his way through the group methodically, following Tetch’s trail. He dropped another three, leaving only the two by the front door and the six by the vault before he started hearing Tetch’s yelling.

“Where are they?! The Alice and the brunette were supposed to be here. Where are they?!” The man jumped onto a desk, pointing his dirty finger at some of the remaining mind slaves by the vault. “You, you, you! Find them!”

The three dispersed from their places at the vault, guns cocked as they prowled through the bank.

“Tetch’s noticed his headcount.”

“Surprised it took him so long,” Barbara drawled back. “Sent in a tip to Dad, police should be on their way. ETA twelve minutes.”

A loud bang tore his attention away from the voice in his helmet to the now thoroughly destroyed desk a few yards away. The shooter kicked the pieces of mahogany aside before continuing on his way, shotgun in hand.

“Fuck.”

He slid out of his location, reloading his dart gun to take aim. The last thing he needed was some bank teller blowing his leg off.

The dart hit home, the man hit the floor, and Jason moved across the room as the attention shifted to the downed man. Jason climbed up to the rises above the lights as Tetch started screaming again. He’d have to wait to get the man’s headband.

“Find him! Whoever it is, the bat, the birds, the yellow one, I don’t care, find them!” The squirrelly man shouted. From his spot above he couldn’t see the vault well but the sounds of machinery could be heard. “And you! Hurry up, we aren’t here for finesse we’re here for my money.”

He heard short quick beeps sounding from the back. “I think they’re-“

“Setting the vault to blow, yeah. Ninety seconds. Shit”

Only the best decisions were made in the heat of the moment, including darting a red head in a funny hat. Tetch screamed in rage as he ripped the dart from his cheek, eyeing it with hatred before the man swayed and fell. Footsteps rushed to the fallen man as the minions rushed to their master’s side before turning to hunt. All the mind slaves were on the prowl now, only one remaining by the vault door.

Out of darts and unable to reach Tetch’s control switch thanks to the lookout, Jason needed to make distractions to sneak by the brainless civilians. Unlike certain people he wasn’t going to wail on these guys just because they were following Tetch’s commands.

“Timer was set. Eighty seconds. PD’s out five minutes. Signal and Spoiler are the same.”

So he was going this alone. Taking a book he quickly threw it into a glass case a few feet from the vault’s guard. The man turned to investigate, allowing Jason to slip in behind him.

Wires ran all along the vault’s edges, the daisy chain not quite enough to cover the broken handle or the scuff marks from the attempt at prying the door open. Explosives lined the wires and the familiar ticking filled the air.

Suddenly the vault felt a lot larger, a lot hotter. The beeping became louder, the sounds of his own labored breath not enough to cover that horrible, horrible sound or the fact of what was about to happen. 

He was ripped back to the present by Barbara screaming his name, demanding he answer, move, do something damn it!

He moved to the timer, the red numbers blinking back at him smugly as he set to work on the device’s frame.

Barbara’s voice filled the comm again, relaying his actions to someone else on the line.

“Time,” he snapped as he pulled the upper casing off. Wires, brackets, screws, and more greeted him. 

“Forty-six.”

He followed the lines in the box leading to the outside. He couldn’t cut them outside the box as it went out on both sides. If he cut one the other would activate that much quicker if not instantly. Need to find the one connected to the switch and battery power then. Cut the battery, no explosive charge. Jason almost laughed. It was like trying to make an explosive, just in reverse.

“Thirty-five. Jason get the fuck out now.”

He removed his gloves and pulled the needed tools from his belt. Switch is already on, battery is already working. They were building pressure, enough pressure and heat that would force the explosive charge that would then send the others off.

“Jason now is not the time to prove yourself, get out!” Barbara screamed at him. “You aren’t trained for bomb disposal.”

He hummed as he clamped a few wires. He looked to the small pressure gauge in the box, finding it slowing. He clamped a few more, slowing it again.

“Jason what the hell are you doing?!”

“Slowing pressure build up.”

He set his helmet to thermal, looking for the hottest part of the equipment. Finding it he followed the wires again, this time clipping them. He repeated the action a second time, slowing the heating and the pressure build up. Unfortunately, it only slowed it down. It couldn’t cool the explosive charge. The thing was hot, and it was still getting hotter.

“I swear to god if you don’t-“

Jason pulled his helmet off. He turned it around to see the bottom as he took a screwdriver to it. Panels lifted off revealing the cooling system below. He set the system to off before removing the small coolant tank from the space. Without gloves the thing was freezing but he wasn’t about to drop it.

He heard footsteps thudding behind him, the brainless civilians coming in to stop him. 

He took one of the cut lines running into the charge and spliced it into the tank, did the same with the other wire in the hopes that it would slow the heating down if not completely freeze the thing.

A sharp pain tore into his side just as he heard a gunshot behind him. Another grazed his shoulder as he turned to face his attackers. He charged to the side, drawing fire before jumping off the wall and landing on them. The guys might have some pulled muscles and bruises the next day, but it was better than the alternative.

Without Barbara in his ear he had no way of knowing if taking the headbands off these guys would hurt them if still conscious. Seeing no other option, Jason spun behind the two and ripped their controllers off. They both swayed for a moment before hitting the floor. 

A blast near his head pointed him to the last shotgun in the fray. The woman’s dead eyes looked into him as she stood there. Her finger went to squeeze the trigger as Jason pushed a nearby table at her. The table landed home as a click rang out from the gun. No more bullets.

Rushing forward he took the headband from her as well, leaving her to half slump on the table. That left only two who had remained vigilant standing at the front entrance. 

Returning to the vault, he grabbed the two men and carried them out to lay them by the woman. Hopefully if the bomb did go off they’d be out of the blast radius. He moved across the floor to Tetch, the spindly man still unconscious as Jason looked through his pockets for any kind of switch. Finding none, he gripped the man’s hat and pulled it off his head. From the entrance he heard the other two drop. He made quick work of Tetch, securing him to a column as sirens neared the bank. 

Helmet in hand he ran to the stairwell as cars pulled up outside. Voices yelled out as he ran up the stairs to the roof, his side singing his damnation as he reached the top only for a bullet from below to bury itself in his recently recovered thigh.

The sounds of the two officers yelling at each other faded as he burst through the roof access and grappled to another building. He moved a few blocks away, blood pounding in his ears by the time he came to a stop.

He sunk down onto the roof, forcing himself to take deep breaths as he came down from his adrenaline high. He was too far from the bank to hear the sirens or see the flashing lights, but they still rang through his head just as they always did. Looking down at his lap he found his helmet staring back. Without the coolant system he was liable to give himself heat stroke in the thing but chances were Barbara and the others were looking for him.

Slipping on the helmet he didn’t bother with the locks. His systems booted back up and a warning flashed about the missing coolant tank before he dismissed it. Next came the static, then the yelling.

The comms were filled with everyone yelling back and forth. Dick was demanding to know what was going on, Barbara was yelling for Duke and Stephanie’s ETA to the bank, Stephanie’s panicked voice gave her estimate. Kate offered to head over as well, being only a few minutes out. Bruce cut in demanding Barbara find Jason now.

That same tightness wound through his chest, everyone’s frantic concern forcing the air from his lungs. This wasn’t right, they were never this concerned were they?

No, he told himself as he put pressure on his side, they’re just upset that once again he knew how to do something, that they were unaware of the extent of his abilities. That was it, it was because of his “murderer’s” skillset again, just like everything was.

He grit his teeth, blood pooling between his fingers. If it had been just one bullet he’d be fine, but no Mr. Policeman just had to shoot him too. And in the thigh no less. What does everyone have against his left thigh? For fuck’s sake.

He heard Barbara say his name on the comm again, something about his signal being on and sending the location to Duke and Steph. Jason snarled as he tore his helmet off and threw it to the side. He forced himself up, conflicting emotions running through him as he contemplated leaving.

If he stayed they’d come to him, probably take him back to the manor, take care of him. Alfred would dote on him, Dick would pester him, and Cass would come along with her “love” bull crap. But at some point it’d all be taken away again. Bruce would make demands, expect an answer on how he knew what to do with the bomb. Jason would be as honest as possible, would have to tell him of a month in England learning how to create explosives from a man who was aiding the Russian mob. Then Bruce would have that look, the one that left Jason wishing he’d never come back. The look that screamed disappointment and regret in giving him a second chance.

Mind made up, Jason moved towards the edge of the roof as his blood painted the ground. He pulled out his grapple gun, preparing to shoot and move back towards the Narrows when that familiar violet light appeared beside him. He turned his head, fully expecting the light to move away. It remained in place beside him. His earlier suspicion was confirmed as he looked into the light, a ring with an eight pointed star floating there in the glow.

“What the hell?” He whispered, arm lowering as he turned fully.

“Jason Todd of Earth,” a feminine voice emanated from the ring. “You have great love in your heart.”

Jason’s eyebrow twitched and the ring moved around him. “Y’re joking right? Do I look like I’ve got someone waiting at home?”

“You have great love,” the ring repeated. “You also have great loss.”

“Okay then,” he said as he stepped back. He winced as the step sent a jolt through his leg. “What exactly are you trynna sell here?”

“Jason Todd of Earth,” the ring continued. “You have been chosen for your immense love and your continued losses. You have been chosen to join the Star Sapphires.”

He could hear lines whizzing in the distance, Duke and Stephanie drawing near. “And again, what’s this about love? I ain’t got a partner and I ain’t looking for one. Hell I can’t even remember the last time I had a crush, so what the hell?”

“There is more to love than sex. There is more than romance.” The ring drew closer, turning as though to look at his bleeding wounds. “You suffer for those you love, you let yourself feel pain, come to harm, just so you may stay with them.”

He saw where this was going, what the ring was saying. Alarm bells were ringing but he didn’t know why. “What do I get out of this exactly?”

“You have spent your life helping others, helping those you love, those you do not know. You have lost your life doing this.” Jason flinched at the reminder, a woman with blonde hair and a cigarette drifting through his mind. “You have helped others for so long, let the Star Sapphires help you.”

He looked at the ring long and hard, the violet light reflecting around him. He didn’t need to say yes, he could refuse, could go back to life without a glowing ring following him everywhere, go back to a life where he fights to be included in the most minuscule things in a family that has already mourned and moved on...Go back to a few days of happiness and then weeks of pain and heartache.

“Where will you take me?” He asked, mind already made up.

“Zamaron, if you so wish. You are welcome to remain on Earth if that is what you want.”

“No,” he interjected, yells of light and being blinded coming from behind him. “I accept your offer, take me there.”

The ring slipped on his right hand, light racing across his form as kevlar and leather were replaced with something else, something black, violet, and white. Heat rushed to his side and leg. He looked down to find the wounds healed, the bullet on the rooftop below him from his thigh. A portal appeared before him, bright and violet just like the ring. Stephanie and Duke’s voices called out behind him, buildings away, yelling his name in hopes of a response. He looked to the portal again, then stepped in.

“Welcome to the Star Sapphires.”


End file.
